Waiting for You
by queen-sheep
Summary: Ron has been waiting his whole life for his parents. For acknowledgement, for attention, to not be last place every single time. "Even Harry! Harry, who's been here for less time, has a higher priority in their mind. And I'm just waiting and waiting, and I'm tired of waiting for them!" -ONESHOT


_A/N: Written for Camp Potter: A Challenge (Archery). Prompts used: Waiting_

* * *

Ronald Weasley, age five, was situated in front of a chess board, staring at it in fascination. Cautiously, he reached out his still pudgy, childish fingers and slowly tipped over the rook. The rook wiggled angrily. He laughed to himself in delight. Eyes beaming, he looked up to crow to someone, _anyone_, about his latest accomplishment.

His mouth, forming unspoken words, faltered and closed with a soft sound. The room around him was bustling with activity. His mum was running around trying to appease his sister's cries, his father was on the other side of the room trying to deal with the twins, and his other brothers were chatting and teasing each other at the table in the middle of the room. Staying silent, he glanced around the room once more. Raising his hand, he deliberately took the edges of the chess board… and pushed it to the ground. It landed with a loud clatter, with the pieces now steaming mad. The rook from earlier, if possible, was wiggling even angrier that before and seemed to have steam coming out its top.

But no one moved.

No one looked in his direction; no one stopped what they were doing. Ron blinked, then picked up the board again, his shoulders slumped in what seemed like defeat. He started placing the pieces in their proper places again, but they were very upset and refused to cooperate with him. He heaved a sigh, one too heavy for such a small body as his.

But he was determined, young, and not to be deterred. Getting up to his feet, he walked over to his brothers at the table first. He steadily made his way to Bill and stood next to him.

"I'm hungry," he declared.

Bill gave him a vague smile and a, "Later, Ron." He then proceeded to continue his story as Ron stood there and sulked. Shifting on his feet, he waited patiently for his brother to finish and get him something to eat. Not that he was really hungry or anything, but he already said he was and he couldn't take it back now. Shifting on his feet, he decided against sitting down. Surely it wouldn't take that long?

Twenty minutes, he finally got the message. Bill had completely forgotten about him, and he wasn't going to stay a moment longer.

Padding quietly to his mum, he was relieved to note that his sister was calm and sleeping again. Opening his mouth to speak, he received a quick stern look and a shake of the head. She put her finger to her mouth in a shushing motion. Ron, being an obedient boy, obliged her.

Letting out another silent sigh, he eyed his father and twin brothers nervously. He didn't want to go near them after their last prank had him sporting bright green hair for three weeks.

Ron plodded back to his chessboard, defeated. He laid down on his stomach, head cradled in his arms, and sighed once more.

How was it that he could feel so alone in a room full of people?

Was this when he first realized? Perhaps it was. When he discovered that no matter what, he would always come in second place to his siblings, to his parents. He would always be waiting for their attention, for their acknowledgement.

* * *

Ronald Weasley, age eleven, was finally going to Hogwarts. His face was glowing as he bounced through Diagon Alley. He was going to go to school! He was going to make new friends, and be on the Quidditch Team, and get his own new wand! He didn't even care about his second hand books that day, or his too short robes. The excitement overshadowed everything else.

Hearing his name, he looked up to see his parents gesturing for him to come. They had finished all their shopping except for one thing: his wand. Face breaking out into an enormous grin, he sprinted towards them.

As his (large) family entered Ollivanders, he struggled to look around the shop. Ron was stuck at the back of the group, and the only things he could see were the tops of the shelves, which were just crammed with rectangular boxes containing _wands_. His excitement doubled.

He tried to shove his way to the front. It didn't work very well. Charlie and Bill and the twins were right there, packed as tightly as could be. Instead, he waited out at the back of the group and eyed Mr. Ollivander. He was creepy looking, with milky eyes and a general freaky air about him. However, he _was_ the best wandmaker in England, so he couldn't complain.

Ron watched quietly from the back. He was good at that. No one ever seemed to notice his eyes watching him. A habit from his childhood, he supposed.

He observed Mr. Ollivander talking to his parents. They seemed to be past the social chit chat part, and he didn't know what they were discussing anymore. This really shouldn't take this long. He only needed to get his wand, and then they could go home, right?

While he was pondering this, he felt eyes settle on him. They were heavy, observing, and felt as if it were seeing through him. Ron automatically tensed. Glancing up, he briefly met the gaze of Mr. Ollivander. Then the moment passed and the wandmaker turned away.

Vaguely, he felt a hand swatting at him. It was Ginny.

"Ron? Oi, Ron! Are you even listening to me?"

"Er, what?" He said back absently.

She glowered at him.

Ron waved her off, and turned his attention back to the adults in the room. They were arguing now; over what, he couldn't fathom. Ollivander looked tense, but his parents weren't budging an inch. He knew how stubborn they could be.

After a little more back and forth from both parties, they had finally seemed to reach a conclusion. Mr. Ollivander was frowning; his parents had come out victorious. His curiosity spiked slightly, and his siblings only just seemed to notice.

His mum and dad headed turned to face them with smiling faces.

"Charlie, come get your new wand," they called out. Ron froze. Suddenly, all eyes were on him.

"W-what?" he managed to stumble out. His tongue was suddenly too big for his mouth and he couldn't get any words out. "What about… I thought—"

His parents exchanged regretful glances. His siblings were quiet for once, and shot him sympathetic looks. As his mum pushed Charlie towards Mr. Ollivander, his dad came closer to him and gave him an apologetic hug.

"I'm sorry, son," he said quietly, "I know how excited you were to get your very own wand. But, Charlie needs it more. He's working with dragons, and your mother is worried about how he'll fare with his current wand."

Ron stared at the ground. _'And we don't have enough money to buy two wands,' _went unspoken between them. In mere moments, his excitement had been crushed flat, and familiar feelings of frustration and anger bubbled up in him.

He forcibly shoved it down, but he could already feel his face reddening. His dad stared down at him sadly.

"It's alright," he said mechanically, "I just… I'll go get some fresh air."

Without another word, he turned and left the shop. Walking a few feet, he stopped in a less crowded area of Diagon Alley and sat on a nearby bench.

His thoughts quickly turned bitter while watching the various soon-to-be students grasping their new wands and shopping bags. He could've been one of them. He was _supposed _to be one of them. But no. He was pushed back once again; by his parents, by his family.

Ron knew it wasn't really their fault. His mum did have a pretty valid reason for wanting to get Charlie a new wand… but so did he. He would probably be made fun of at school, with a ratty wand that wasn't even his. And he had heard _the _Harry Potter was attending Hogwarts this year as well.

He bit back a sigh, burying his face in his hands. It was unfair how he couldn't even get angry and kick something; he was in public after all. But it was alright, he was rather good at bottling up his emotions.

Standing up and brushing himself off, he decided to go back into the shop. He didn't want his parents to worry after all.

And once again, Ron was left waiting. He was waiting bitterly, resentfully, and with a heavy heart.

* * *

Ron Weasley, age 17, watched as his best friend got doted over by his mother. His father hovered around the edges of their conversation, waiting to bombard him with questions about the muggle world.

He kept his smile firmly on his face.

His fists clenched slightly, and then loosened lest anyone be looking. He admitted it, he was jealous. Who wouldn't be? After living a life overshadowed by his better siblings, and fading into the background, he managed to become best friends with the Boy-who-Lived.

When they finally managed to escape back to their (his) room, Harry looked happy and content.

"I wish I had a big family like yours," he said with a large grin on his face. It was something Ron had heard repeatedly over the past years of their friendship.

Sometimes he just wanted to scream, _'You don't understand!'_ but he didn't. Harry didn't need another burden on him, and it was something they would probably argue over. With the war coming up, fighting amongst allies was the worst thing that could possibly happen.

So instead, he made a noncommittal noise in Harry's direction and they relaxed and played around until his mum came into their room to assign more chores. Groaning (or, at least he was), the two of them went to the garden to remove the gnomes again. Hermione joined them a couple minutes later. It was tedious work, and by the time it was dinner, Ron was exhausted. He trudged through his food, finished his remaining chores as fast as possible, and headed upstairs. Harry followed soon after, with a quick 'thank you' to his mum.

Collapsing into his bed, he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. It was rather easy, actually; his body was tired. His mind, however, was another story and wouldn't stop thinking.

He bemoaned Harry for making him remember his buried feelings of slight animosity towards his parents. His mind was preventing him from sleeping, and lying in bed doing nothing was making him feel antsy. Letting out an irritated huff, he swung from the bed and crept out the door, making sure not to wake his friend. He was sleeping without nightmares for once, and he didn't want to disturb him.

Upon reaching the bottom floor, Ron grabbed a light jacket and slipped out of the house. The cold air hit him harshly, and he shivered violently. He absentmindedly let his feet lead him to the garden, where he laid on the grass and stared blankly up at the thought. The dampness of the grass and the chilly wind was successful in distracting him from his thoughts, and despite the uncomfortable feeling, he felt himself nodding off.

The next thing he remembered was being shaken awake by a hand at his shoulder. He groggily jerked upwards, hitting his head on something hard. Ron yelped in pain, hearing a similar sound right beside him. Rubbing the stinging area, he glanced over at the person beside him.

It was Hermione. She glared at him reproachfully, hand on her forehead.

"What was that for?" she muttered under her breath.

Ron raised his hands in defense. "Sorry, wasn't entirely thinking."

She nodded at that, and they fell into a peaceful silence. The sky above them was still very dark, Ron was relieved to note. If he had been found here in the morning by his parents, he would've been in very serious trouble. Not to mention, he probably would've caught a cold too, if he had stayed any longer.

"Well," Ron said, standing up, "I guess we should head back. What are you doing out here anyways?"

"Couldn't sleep," She replied with a shrug. Standing up as well, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "What about you? What's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

Hermione stopped at that, and crossed her arms together. Ron felt his face heating up in embarrassment at being read that easily. How was it that all his defenses fell under the scrutiny of one girl? Deciding to dwell on that later, he figured he should answer her question, as she looked to be getting impatient with his silence.

"Well, it's just that—" He stopped, frustrated. He really didn't know how to word his feeling. It was something he had never been good at, and still wasn't.

Hermione watched him quietly, calm now that she knew he was speaking. She silently gestured for him to take his time.

The pair of them started to walk back to the Burrow.

Ron tried to organize some of his feeling into coherent words. The memories and emotions slowly gathered in his head, and then he felt he was ready to speak.

"I— my parents, they always push me away, I mean not intentionally! I just always have to wait for them… I'm always the last ones in their minds. Even Harry! Harry, who's been here for less time, has a higher priority in their mind. And I'm just waiting and waiting, and I'm tired of waiting for them!"

Ron paused, slightly startled by the rush of words that had come out. It had been a while since he let himself be this truthful to anyone. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to gauge Hermione's reaction. Thankfully, she only looked thoughtful.

Then, she spoke, and Ron swore his world froze for a moment.

"Stop waiting then," she declared, looking up at him. "Forgive them, and move on. There's a Muggle saying that I've always remembered: forgive but don't forget. You don't need to keep holding onto those angry feelings Ron."

The rest of their walk back was silent. Ron was thinking over what she had just said, while Hermione was respectfully quiet. As they reached the house, and stood at the base of the staircase, he turned to Hermione and uttered a quick, "Thank you."

He moved immediately after that, ears already starting to turn red in embarrassment.

She shook her head, smiled, and made her way upstairs after him.


End file.
